


Atomic Number

by Viraaja



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Armitage Hux Has Feelings, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Poe Dameron Is A Mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:20:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29163306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viraaja/pseuds/Viraaja
Summary: It was one of the things about him that kept Poe up at night. The knowledge that the man he loved had not been a good man, but a bad man. And a brilliant man. A brilliant man who now walked the line between the wrong and right sides of history. Whose weapon of a mind, in the wrong hands, had caused incredible destruction; but now in the right hands, his own hands, could save the whole of the human race.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Armitage Hux
Comments: 11
Kudos: 38
Collections: Hoelidays Gift Exchange 2021





	Atomic Number

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shampain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shampain/gifts).



> Just a little love letter to Shampain and her Epoch verse - [Read it here ♥](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1822489)

“ _Damn_ he looks good in a tux.”

“Yeah,” Poe said into Rey’s ear, “But you should see him out of it.”

“ _Poe-_ ”

He laughed into his glass of scotch, breath casting fog over the clear ball of ice that could not really be called a cube. Eighteen year Macallan, easily a forty dollar pour, and one of the cheapest options available at the, to be entirely fair, open bar. He’d considered the Pappy’s, but of all the wasteful things in the world, a six thousand dollar bottle of bourbon whiskey seemed particularly excessive.

And tonight, of all nights, was about fighting wasteful excess.

Beside him, Rey’s eyes sparked with a wild excitement. Earlier, he’d overheard her and Armitage speaking. A pep talk of the sort Poe would never be able to have with his partner, no matter how many conversations they’d had around Epoch Project. Talk of closed loops, self-converting proto-particles, accelerated reconstruction and optimal molecular discourse without fail, went over Poe’s head like a rip-tide taking him out to sea. If it didn’t have something to do with the functionality of the Republic’s current atmo engines Poe could only nod along with a smile and a suggestive wink.

Despite not understanding half of what Armitage’s work involved, he understood _Armitage_ , and Poe liked to think that’s what mattered the most. Particularly, when Armitage had Rey to bounce his ideas off of.

“I hope he talks about the necromantic qualities of dark matter sub-particles. Did he tell you how those work? When you cage them within a chain of positively charged ions...”

Again, Poe found himself smiling and nodding along - without the suggestive wink, of course. Those were only for Armitage.

They were front row right of stage center. Around them, the susurration of conversation buzzed loudly as the lights dimmed twice in a final call for seats. To his right sat an older couple he did not recognize, but presumed were billionaires of the sort Armitage had warned him about. People more interested in the monetary potential of the tech Armitage had spent the last five years developing than they were with the environmental and social impacts that could herald their little marble of Earth into the next era of human advancement.

And space exploration.

Now _that_ did get Poe a little excited.

When the lights dimmed next it was with the soft hush of the theater growing quiet, and the Forum logo's holo-projection spilling into three-dimensional relief above the stage. The swell of applause was of the polite variety as Leia Organa, the Forum’s director, took the stage to announce the final speaker of the series _Topical Exchanges in Earthly Conservationism_.

The title was a handful, but so were these discussions. They’d watch a few, curled up on their couch within the Hux family upper Manhattan penthouse, the only part of Armitage’s heritage he had bothered to keep besides his name. Previous Forum speakers were people Armitage had either known by name or by relation, if not reputation. He was the youngest of the lot by at least a decade, and the only one with a resume of questionable regard. That is, if spearheading the planet’s biggest oil and gas boom of the millennium, and subsequently sending the planet into a death spiral after the largest catastrophic unnatural disaster of Earth’s history had a place on anyone’s resume.

“Welcome my fellow Forum members to the final evening in a series of speakers who have dedicated their lives to the advancement of humanity not as a race, but as guardians of Earth, and what it means to be the conservators of this planet we call home. Tonight I am excited to introduce to you a dear friend of mine. A person I have watched grow from a young man into one of the greatest minds history will ever record. He has scaled a gauntlet of roles, from the hegemony of combustible energy to his more recent advent as a conservationist, and his current vision as a futurist. He is a man you all know, either through his current work or his reputation. Tonight I am thrilled to welcome to our Forum, the ever esteem-able Doctor Armitage Hux.”

Applause crescendoed, excitement and intrigue and that ever-present edge of judgment that would follow Armitage’s professional life beyond him into his grave. It was the nature of his history, both as a Hux and as the man who had nearly destroyed them all, and then dedicated his life to an atonement they both knew would never truly be earned. But that wouldn’t stop Armitage from trying. And it wouldn’t stop Poe from loving him dearly, even despite it.

On stage, Armitage arranged himself at the podium. Ineffably put together, hair coiffed to the right and tuxedo making alluring lines out of his already long, elegant shapes, he looked like he belonged there. Like giving talks at the New New York Forum was a weekly part of his job description. His face was calm, his lips pink and his cheeks lightly flushed with a life that had taken him years to regain. He looked _excited_ , in the ways Poe knew only he could see.

This newfound vigor for living...it looked good on him. Better than the tux, even.

“Good evening Forum members. I’d first like to thank Director Organa for her gracious welcome. Her work with individuals in my field has provided a landmark opportunity and voice for a platform that is both exciting and crucial to the advancement of the human-facing sciences. And now, more than ever before, a science that can can take us further than we have ever gone before. Tonight I am going to talk to you about perhaps the most important technological advancement that we will see in our lifetimes, let alone the next several generations of humanity.

“Tonight I am here to talk about the future.”

“So when’s your next deployment?”

Finn was wearing a black on black three-piece. It hit him in all the right places. Places Poe would have noticed years ago, if tuxedos were a thing worn on space stations. Turns out, the bulky flight suits they’d both been saddled with for so long paid no compliments to a man’s figure.

“Six months, if we stay on schedule. I’m still not sure I’ll go. Mars is feeling further away than I’d like.”

“After tonight? I’d say it feels closer than ever.”

“I don’t know, bud. I’m starting to think I’m too old for these long deployments. Wanna put me on the moon for a month? No problem. The way-station above Venus? Let’s do it. but Mars is three years. _Three years._ And for what? The same old ice farming? You know the drill, you were there for it.”

Poe swirled his drink. Another scotch. Well, a whiskey. Japanese this time. More delicate and floral than the Macallan. He was preferential to it, if Poe was honest, and if he was talking scotch with Finn. Finn didn’t talk scotch, however. Finn talked space.

And relationships.

“You’re in love. I get it.”

Poe laughed, and then he beamed, because it was damn fucking true.

“I am. Enough that I want to be there for him, for when this all blows up. In the good way, not like last time,” Poe knew his grin was cheeky. He could never joke like this with Armitage, even a decade later the wounds were still too raw, the scars too deep.

But here, atop the tallest tower in the New New York skyline, three hundred and fifty stories above the financial district’s canals, it was hard to feel anything but a monumental sense of achievement. Full-circle, as they say.

And when Poe looked over Finn’s shoulder to where Armitage stood, surrounded by a gaggle of peers, caught up in a discussion Poe knew he barely had a place in, but was committed to because he was committed to Armitage in the same way he was committed to the ideals and dreams they shared, he didn’t feel left out. He felt proud.

“Commander Poe Dameron?”

A breathless woman, fair-skinned, blond-haired, legs for days. Beautiful. His type, if he was interested in women, which he had been, once. Until he met Armitage.

“Just Poe. I retired from command years ago, Miss…”

“Olivia,” she said with a rush, and a flick of her eyes towards Finn.

It could be a coincidence. Just as likely not. Because when Poe followed her attention not to Finn, but past him, to where an older man had stepped up alongside Armitage, hedging too close, just like he hedged the dying golden age that had once been his prime, Poe knew exactly who was standing in front of him.

Olivia _Pryde_ , wife to the newly minted CEO of the Snoke-Sheev oil and gas empire. Armitage’s very own former employer, turned prosecutor, and subsequent jailer.

“Olivia,” Poe smoothly side-stepped around her, the tilt to his smile kind, if not genuine, “I wish we could talk, but if you’ll excuse me.” Finn caught his eye as he skirted clear of this not-quite conversation and the dramatically mouthed _‘I’m so sorry’_. His expression said all Poe could not, not here where too many people were listening.

Across the room, Armitage was holding himself together.

Barely.

To the undiscerning eye, his posture was easy, respectful, the cant to his shoulders affable. But what no one else could see, Poe only had eyes for: the way his fingertips rubbed at his palm, the quick brush at hair that had not fallen out of place, and the single button he had left undone, now slotted into place like his jacket were armor, and could protect him from whatever scheme Pryde had surely planned. It wouldn’t be the first time, and for that Poe had come prepared.

Six seconds was all it took for Poe to cross the distance and place himself behind Pryde. Another two to take one last sip of his whiskey.

“-despite our professional history, the option to go public would allow a level of investment that-”

“Oh, sorry, excuse me!” Said as he fake stumbled into Pryde’s side so he could pour his drink down the front of his tuxedo.

Some poor ancient Japanese whiskey maker was rolling in his grave right then. It was wasteful, but Armitage would probably forgive him. And even if he didn’t, it was worth it for Pryde’s reaction alone.

“Mr. Dameron,” Pryde’s voice dripped disgust like the whiskey that dripped from his lapels. “Always a pleasure.”

“Sorry about that Enric,” Poe said with a wink at Armitage, who was as carefully composed as he could be, considering the circumstances, “and you know the pleasure’s all mine.”

“So my wife didn’t find you after all?”

Pryde pulled a kerchief out of an inside pocket. After the last gala, it appeared he had come prepared as well. Poe remembered the incident well, grinning openly at Pryde’s apathetic stare as he imagined him reliving the very same scene. Someone must have warned the caterers, there were no ice fountains to be seen.

“Are you even _trying_ to be inconspicuous?” Poe asked brightly.

“I only wanted to have a chat with the former Snoke-Sheev protégé.” Like Finn, Pryde’s tux was all black. The whiskey stain wouldn’t show, but he’d smell like the drunk Poe knew him to be. The same kind of drunk Armitage’s father had been. “Stars know we certainly invested enough money into his grooming to at least be due some credit for his current achievements.”

“That’s definitely one way to look at it,” Poe said with all the disgust _he_ felt, which was far more than a single half-drank pour of expensive whiskey. “Anyways, we have a prior engagement with the bartender over there, sorry again about your tux.”

Armitage’s elbow was stiff under Poe’s palm, his step out of sync with Poe’s own. Poe could only imagine the thoughts going through his head. The memories of years past when Pryde had sat in a witness chair and testified that the drilling disaster had been not an accident, but a calculated catastrophe meant to sabotage the Snoke-Sheev pipeline operations in the Antarctic. The whole pole had been destroyed, the ice cap melting over the course of just under seventy-two hours, sending the planet into literal meltdown.

Millions had died within the first two weeks. Billions more over the next year. Coasts had flooded, crops had withered, the desalination of the ocean had wiped out aquatic life, and the release of toxic gasses from the ancient ice had caused the cataclysmic rise of surface temperatures that had resulted in the evaporation of all that newly melted fresh water.

It had taken years to rebuild. New New York, one of the first metropolitans to be reconstructed, had been erected atop the graveyard of her former glory, with skyscrapers so tall that if the oceans ever flooded again, the city might live on. Except that was the thing. It wouldn’t happen again. Couldn’t. The aquifers were empty, and there wasn’t enough collective water left on the surface to pose a threat of even a river flooding, let alone a whole ocean.

It was the entire reason he had gone to Mars in the first place. The ice farming tech that they’d been developing in case of such a disaster had been ramped into overdrive. Poe had spent six years on Mars. Six years overseeing the operations that had saved the remaining population of Earth.

And they’d only been able to achieve that level of ice farming because of the crude fuel made available by Snoke-Sheev oil and gas, pumped up from beneath the very Antarctic crust they had finally fucking exposed.

They’d been lauded as heroes, despite being the masterminds behind the entire disaster. And it had been Armitage who had taken the fall, condemned by the people he had worked for, while Pryde and his ilk stepped up to play unlikely savior.

“Poe.”

His name, said like silk. Fine and delicate and threaded through with that posh little accent Poe would _never_ get enough of.

“Thank you, for that.”

“You know I’d never miss a chance to throw a drink in Pryde’s face.”

“And I have to miss out on every one,” spoken with a knowing sigh.

No, Armitage _had_ to be on his best behavior. There was no recourse for him but this plodding path forward. Where his past would never truly be left behind, not if he wanted to make amends to the planet he had nearly destroyed. This was the tenuous balance to his whole existence, this drive to make right what he had, technically, put wrong. Because as awful as his former employers were, Armitage was not innocent.

It was one of the things about him that kept Poe up at night. The knowledge that the man he loved had not been a good man, but a bad man. And a brilliant man. A brilliant man who now walked the line between the wrong and right sides of history. Whose weapon of a mind, in those wrong hands, had caused incredible destruction; but now in the right hands, his _own_ hands, could save the whole of the human race.

The bartender greeted them with a refreshing professionalism. Armitage eyed the bottles and ordered for the two of them, and Poe would have spit out his drink if he still had one.

“Two Pappy Van Winkles, neat, please.”

“Armitage,” Poe pushed out, a little breathlessly, “That’s the fancy stuff.”

“And if we don’t drink it, Pryde will.”

The bartender said nothing as he slid two glasses across the bar top, filling each with a generous pour that, by Poe’s rough calculations, would equate about eight hundred dollars each.

“When in Rome,” Armitage breathed as he lifted his glass.

“When in Rome.”

Their glasses clinked, delicate and fragile. Armitage’s eyes shone green against the warm caramel of the bourbon, catching glitter gold in the reflection, as they held Poe’s own.

They found a private place, a long ways away from the cacophony of the Forum’s festivities. A balcony overlooking the skyscrapers that sliced the stars like iridescent knives. Poe leaned against the railing, body angled to where Armitage stood tall, but gazed off into the distance. Poe followed it. Along the horizon, he could see Mars. It crested the blue-lit glow of the dense sprawl that closed over the Hudson’s dried-out riverbed, where New New York spilled into the congested suburbs that had been rebuilt alongside her many towers.

He thought of what it would be like, to go back. The work and the good he could achieve. The people he could help. Armitage would understand. Armitage would _encourage_ him. He would tell Poe not to stay behind because of him, even though Poe well knew Armitage was not ready to be alone again. Not now. Maybe not ever. Definitely not for three long years.

“So, how is it?”

“What?”

“The Pappy’s, does it live up to your expectations?”

“Oh, so, does it taste like eight hundred dollars, is that what you’re asking?”

“ _You_ _’re_ the whiskey connoisseur.”

Poe grinned, all teeth, as Armitage rolled his eyes.

“It’s smooth, with a nose of cherry and oak, and vanilla on the tongue. Better than most bourbon whiskies, though I still think I prefer the way the Japanese do it.”

“So the reputation is all hype,” Armitage took another sip. Their eyes met, held. But then Armitage swallowed, and Poe could not help but watch the way his pale throat flexed above the black of his bow tie.

“Yeah well,” he said, voice a little rough, “you know me, never been one to let a reputation make up my mind.”

“Perhaps you simply have bad taste.”

“Hey now,” Poe looked up, caught Armitage's eyes again and grinned, “I have _great_ taste.”

Silence fell companionable. The hum of the party at their backs fading to a distance that felt further away than Mars ever could. Rey would come looking, eventually, with Finn in tow. But for now, it was just him and Armitage and the city beyond, sharing an expensive drink in the span of a moment that should maybe feel wasteful, when there was so much work to be done for the world at their feet.

But this was something Poe had gotten good at, a long time ago. Making moments out of these little spans of time. Finding the important things in the spaces between, and then holding onto them - bending them into something he could keep.

And this? This was something Poe wanted to keep. Something he was not going to let go, not now, not ever.

“I’m not going to Mars.” The words felt good to say; a burden lifted. And he looked to Armitage with an affection he never really had been able to contain.

Armitage, however, was quiet, his eyes piercing.

“You’ve made up your mind,” said in a way which was actually a question.

“Yeah, I’m staying here, with you.”

“Poe,” Armitage's voice dropped as he stared at him, _into_ him, unrelenting, “it’s important work on Mars. Are you sure?”

“Without a doubt.” He downed his drink, a too large sip that would again have that whiskey maker rolling in his grave, all so he could set his glass aside and step into Armitage’s personal space.

He was shaking when Poe got there. Poe could see it in the tremble of gold in his glass.

“You know I love you, right?” Poe said softly into the night.

“So you keep saying.”

“Think one day you’ll be able to believe me?”

Armitage looked away. No matter how many times Poe told him, Armitage always had this same reaction. This stubborn resistance to _them_ , as lovers, as a couple, as friends and partners. It had taken him so long just to convince Armitage he was deserving of something good, to give them a chance. The guilt and the responsibility he shouldered were burdens he’d bestowed upon himself, because Armitage would carry both until his death. Poe knew that, and he understood why, even if he didn’t agree it was fair. Not when he’d served his time and walked free into this new, different, but maybe not entirely awful world he had helped create.

But who was Poe to tell him that - the things he could see in a future born of an unprecedented disaster - when Armitage was already spearheading the very technology that would take the human race where they’d never gone before: past the light of their own sun, and into the galaxy beyond.

“It _is_ important work being done on Mars,” Poe eventually spoke into the night, “But what you’re doing here is more important. Mars is a quick fix. Epoch is our future. Everyone’s future. I want to be a part of that, even if it’s just being there for you while you make it happen.”

“Poe,” Armitage’s voice broke with his name, eyes flickering over his face as he spun his glass with those long, elegant fingers. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Just let us have this, okay?” Poe took the glass, set it aside, and replaced it with his hands. He stroked his thumbs over Armitage’s fingers as he stepped close enough to feel his breath on his cheek. “I’m so proud of you, and I want to support you, because what you’re doing is important. But also, I love you Armitage, and even if it was just us, without all the rest, I’d still want to stay.”

“You’re such a romantic,” Armitage said with his breath. But there was a smile there, beneath the surface of his words. And his hands clutched at Poe’s like he would be swept away without them. “And I am selfish. Selfish enough that I won't say no if you stay.”

“That’s not selfish, Armitage. That’s what it’s like to be in love.”

“Maybe,” Armitage’s voice dropped to a near whisper, “But isn’t love also supposed to be a sacrifice, to put someone else’s needs above your own? I don’t want to keep you from your own path. I don’t want to hold you back.”

“Sometimes it can be a sacrifice, mostly it’s a compromise. But this isn’t even that. I’m not compromising anything by staying. Really, I’m being selfish, because I’m doing this all for myself. This is what I want. Because _you_ _’re_ all I want, you’re what’s most important to me, Armitage.”

In the light of the surrounding city, Armitage's eyes twinkled wet. Tears, left unshed, but there alongside the emotion of his words, “There you go again, with more of that romance.”

“Yeah,” Poe smiled, “And someone needs to be around to throw expensive whiskies in Pryde’s face.”

Armitage laughed, a short burst of sound he smothered immediately with a press of his lips. But he couldn't contain himself, not entirely, not when his smile was already breaking free.

“My hero,” said with that smile. And then, when Armitage _grinned_ , it was as if the sky cracked open and the stars could be seen all at once. Poe would have lost himself to it, but as quickly as Armitage's smile came, it was gone, to be replaced by words rushing fast, breathlessly, “I love you desperately, Poe.”

He didn’t say it often. But every time he did made the world fall out from under Poe’s feet. He was left buoyant and light, drifting in the knowledge that a man like Armitage Hux, this brilliant genius mastermind of a man had fallen for some wild idealistic dreamer who spent more time with his head in the literal clouds than with his feet on the ground.

It’s why they worked so well together, he thought. Why he was able to love Armitage unconditionally when no one else seemed able to. Because from his vantage, he saw what everyone else could not. Armitage had gone his entire life alone, seen only for his potential, and then his failures, and now through the lens of an impossible expectation he was somehow living up to; but never simply as a man. Not until Poe.

“Come here.” He touched the back of Armitage’s neck, drawing him down into a kiss that at once swelled into a need. Armitage breathed against his lips, short sharp little hitches as he pressed against Poe’s mouth like this was their first time again, when Armitage had not known what to do. It still felt that way, sometimes. No matter how often they came together like this, there was always that disbelief, that need to hold back from a hurt Armitage seemed unable to stop expecting.

“How much longer do we have to stay?” Poe asked into the kiss, resisting the urge to bury his hand in Armitage’s hair lest they had to return to the throes of the gala rather than their complimentary apartment several stories below.

“I don’t care, let’s go,” Armitage pulled back, to press his lips to Poe’s ear and twist his fingers into his bow tie and tug him into his chest. “I’ve already secured enough funding for the next seven years of development, Leia will handle the rest.”

“ _Really?_ ” The sum of money implied, it would be monumental. Poe stumbled along after Armitage, as he led him into the lift that would take them to their apartment. He couldn’t keep the disbelief from his voice when he sputtered, “Already that much?”

“Yes.” And there was that pride, that confidence Poe was as drawn to as he was the stars in the sky. “Pryde can take his public option and go fuck himself.”

Emotion bled into Poe’s words, as he pushed Armitage into the lift’s wall and murmured, “All this talk about fucking,” and then he layered his mouth over the corner of Armitage’s, breath spilling hot past his teeth as his hand slid over the half-swollen heat hidden by his trousers. He held Armitage there, pressed into the wall, fingers scratching lightly over his testicles while his palm ground into his erection, and thought about how he never wanted to give this up. Never would, despite what Armitage might expect from him, from the world. And when Poe kissed Armitage again, he hoped all the emotion he felt could be shared with that kiss. Thought maybe it could, when a soft sound released with Armitage’s breath, and his hips pushed out to meet Poe’s hand.

It was an asking and a taking, ground given up in favor of something as selfish as the affection of another. Surely wasteful, Armitage would claim, in the grand scheme of life, but something more important than any words could ever express. So Poe kept him there, pinned to the wall of the lift, held to this thing between them, until the door slid open with a chime.

They made their way to the apartment quickly, shedding clothing before the door had fully slid closed. Until Armitage was down to his trousers and his open dress shirt, sat at the edge of their bed, Poe’s fingers traveling the length of the seam over a thigh that quivered beneath his touch, as his throat closed around the head of his cock. He watched Armitage’s face as he swallowed: the flutter of his eyelashes, the part of his mouth, and the flush that turned from pink to red as his hips jerked and his hands twisted tight into Poe’s hair. And he thought of Armitage earlier on that stage, speaking with a likewise vigor about a project that meant the literal _world_ to him, committed to a fervent desire to rectify a failing that had been laid at his feet, but of which humanity as a whole was not entirely innocent of.

Some may call it ego, others narcissism, but Poe found he could only see Armitage as a mother fucking hero.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” said as he pulled off Armitage’s cock, fingers already forging a path between his cheeks in a blatant proclamation.

“Was that up for debate?” Armitage said breathlessly as he pulled Poe to him by the grip he had on his hair, and then into a kiss. His mouth slid against Poe’s, more wet than dry, more air than breath, messy and desperate and aching for a connection with Poe in a simple, fundamentally human way.

And when he was buried so deeply inside of Armitage, deep enough that the edges of where he ended and Armitage began blurred with a heady high Poe always thought he could only feel when leaving Earth’s atmosphere behind, he couldn’t help but think that this was, truly, what actually mattered the most.

“Poe,” Armitage whispered as he came, a single breath of sound caught by Poe’s kiss, but a plea for so much more. Because while Armitage might save humanity, Poe knew it was him who had saved Armitage: from the men who would have destroyed him, and a world that had turned its back on him. But most of all from himself, when he had failed to see the worth in the life he had nearly left behind in the rubble of his mistakes.

Later, when the blue crest of suburban light bled gold with approaching dawn, Mars long since set beneath the horizon, and Armitage laid curled up atop Poe’s lap, red hair un-coiffed and fingers tracing lazy patterns into the skin of his thigh, Poe would think about the future. A future that didn’t necessarily involve Mars or Earth or ice or space, but a future with Armitage. A future of them sharing not just their lives, but their thoughts and their time, their goals and their dreams.

So when Armitage spoke, a breathless, “Perhaps in ten years you’ll be the first man to leave the solar system,” a thought flung far into the future of a world in which not just humanity thrived, but this thing between them flourished, Poe couldn’t help but think this was why they worked so well together, and that none of this could ever be considered a waste.

**Author's Note:**

> Love your stuff Shampain, never stop ♥


End file.
